


A frivolous law of motion

by Anonymous



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Age Difference, Banter, Before Crisis Era (Compilation of FFVII), Dubious Consent, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Repression, Sex as character development, Suit!porn, Voyeurism, boss/employee dynamic, in-universe pornography
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 05:54:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29273544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: "I got you to say cocksucking, didn't I? Didn't even know you had that in your vernacular, Tseng. You see, I'm good at getting what I want."Even as the Turks' prisoner, Rufus Shinra has a few more tricks up his sleeve...
Relationships: Rufus Shinra/Tseng
Kudos: 3
Collections: Five Figure Fanwork Exchange 2020





	1. antithesis

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pirotess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pirotess/gifts).



> My knowledge of Before Crisis is dicey as hell, so it plays fast and loose with that bit of canon. However, my working summary was "horny af!Rufus Shinra trying to get a blow job during his house arrest." I hope you enjoy that sentiment (and this fic)! I had lots of fun.
> 
> With thanks to my betas!

Even now, Tseng was haunted by a particular memory from his early days as a rookie Turk. Try as he might, the details remained fresh and refused to dull in his mind. 

He’d been tasked with keeping an eye on the Sector 8 Mako reactor. At the time, Veld had received what he’d believed to be reliable information that AVALANCHE would attack the reactor, attempt to blow it up. This attack would most likely occur during a weekday night, deep during the dark hours of morning, when the reactor only employed a skeleton crew. After all, AVALANCHE was more fixated on saving the Planet than it was on taking lives.

As part of a surveillance caravan which sat on the reactor around the clock, Tseng had found himself as part of a rough-and-ready company. They were supposed to be SOLDIERs—3rd class, sure—but SOLDIERs nonetheless . He was the only Turk present, and Veld had assured him that this assignment was going to put him on the map. 

Three weeks went by and Tseng had grown impossibly bored. His time in the surveillance caravan had been uneventful at best. He took his shifts like everyone else, ate terrible rations, and tried to get by on three hours of sleep and wished that he’d brought more to read. 

Tseng lasted one more week before he finally gave in to a SOLDIER’s invitation to play Billabong poker. Everyone seemed weirdly excited that “pretty boy over there” was finally joining in the fun and games. Since SOLDIER wages were low, they bet with the next best thing: a man’s dignity. A hand lost meant an article of clothing discarded, and it was Tseng’s good fortune to be pretty good at the game. Not that he was any good at cards, but he was good at _people_ , reading them, exploiting their prejudices and doubts. Those attributes were what made up a good Turk; that, and the tenacity to complete a mission, no matter the cost. 

But when AVALANCHE finally attacked the reactor two months later, Tseng barely got in on the action because he was still scrambling to put on his trousers in the surveillance caravan. He’d made up a good story to tell Veld later on, including the true incident of the group of AVALANCHE goons that had tried to dismantle the caravan for parts (after all, what was a lie without a little truth?), but Tseng could tell the older man hadn’t really believed him. 

*

From then on, Tseng resolved never to be bored. Clearly, boredom had led him to make a bad decision way back when. But now, ten years later, and without Veld to lie to, Tseng had thought he’d mostly come to terms with his bad decision, which wasn’t really a bad decision at all considering where he’d ended up. 

The apartment where the Turks kept Rufus Shinra was coincidentally in Sector 8, but Tseng had long since ceased to imagine a surveillance caravan parked around a certain blind corner. The corner in question was now a known hooker hotspot, though they lived and let live. Reno was friends with at least half of the hookers (but it wasn’t something Tseng thought too much about). 

Still, his vice-chief liked to remind him: “It pays to have friends on the street, yo. Or, y’know, in the slums or whatever.”

The apartment had been a central part of a covert operation from some years past, not part of the Turks’ usual haunts. The apartment, though far from the expensive digs that Rufus was familiar with, was already equipped with all the things that Tseng deemed important for a safe house. It had state of the art surveillance already wired into the walls in every room, and all they had to do was find a couple of spare screens to hook up at Shinra HQ. Should Rufus have tried to escape through the door or windows, he would have tripped a pyramid and a series of alarms. 

As such, Rufus was kept in isolation, carefully starved of the Company’s comings and goings. The opposite was not true. The Turks had full access to the apartment whenever they felt like, and a live-video feed was kept circulating at all times. Moreover, it was Tseng’s duty to meet with President Shinra weekly to tell him that his son and heir hadn’t asked to prostrate in front of his old man, nor had he attempted to injure himself in a bid for attention. In the back of his mind, Tseng hoped that President Shinra would grow bored too and stop asking for updates. So far, no luck. But it was only week three of Rufus Shinra’s indefinite sentence and there was time yet.

In a bid to fill his briefings with President Shinra with more than those two facts, Tseng found himself dropping in on Rufus two, sometimes three times a week. He tried not to make a habit of it, as habits were terrible in his line of work. Sometimes, Tseng made the time; other times, he just happened to be in the area, following up on leads, monitoring suspicious activity. 

But he knew Rufus Shinra’s habits; Tseng had known him since he was young, and now he watched him all the time. It was like putting a second skin, learning an identity so completely that it became his own. Tseng technically didn’t need to do his five hours in front of the myriad of screens that covered the apartment at all angles in the HQ located in the basement of the Shinra Building, but Tseng believed in leading by example.

(Veld had believed in that too, but Tseng liked to think he’d reformed that belief; he made it his own, gave it a modern spin. Even now, Tseng could see his old boss in his head, rolling his eyes.)

Tseng let himself into the apartment without knocking. Usually, around this time in the afternoon, he’d find Rufus in the cramped front room trying to read, cup of coffee in hand at the small table in the kitchen. Knowing this, Tseng hadn’t come empty-handed. He’d picked up on a whim, some blackened sugar rolls filled with tart rolanberry jam, fresh from a roadside vendor. Rufus had all of his meals delivered to him at predetermined times, after it’d been taste-tested. It was possibly a security issue, but of course Rufus couldn’t be expected to cook for himself. 

The apartment was oddly silent, until an almost-stifled groan drew Tseng’s attention to the bedroom; it wasn’t particularly loud, but Tseng was naturally disposed towards paranoia, so he heard the sound like it’d echoed at maximum volume. It didn’t take Tseng long to draw his weapon, soundlessly, and he made quick work of the space between where he was standing and the bedroom, moving along the wall. 

The bedroom door wasn’t completely shut. Tseng realized if he stood still, holding his head at an angle, he could see everything that was going on through the crack. Rufus Shinra laid on the bed, dressed mostly, but his clothes were as disheveled as Tseng had ever seen them. Surely Rufus wouldn’t be caught dead seen like this, blond hair strewn over his eyes, skin flushed— 

Tseng’s eyes widened. _Oh._ He drew in a quiet breath and held it. 

In one hand, Rufus gripped his erection, hard and flushed. With his eyes screwed shut, he arched up against his hand. Although masturbation was (in Tseng’s admittedly narrow view) one of those exercises that called for a loss of control, it seemed that Rufus, for all of his stupid youthful ambition (that had landed him in this situation in the first place), was determined to take the exact opposite approach. Almost like it was a particularly pleasurable way to atone for his many sins against the company he was still poised to inherit one day. 

Tseng watched, riveted despite himself, as Rufus pressed his thumb cautiously against the head of his cock. In fact, he was watching so intently that Tseng thought he even detected the precise moment when a moan wanted to tear its way out of Rufus’s throat, and his whole body shuddered, trying to keep the sound behind his teeth. Then, as if to subject himself to further punishment, Rufus let out a rough exhale and slid his hand back down the length of his dick, agonizingly slow. 

Tseng became aware of a guilty warmth pooling in his groin. This was, to use another one of Reno’s patented bits of workplace wisdom, “unprofessional as shit, yo.”

(Not that Tseng was going to disclose this during a briefing.) 

Still, Tseng couldn’t bring himself to look away. Not least because he was learning yet another facet of Rufus by spying on him. That too, was part of the job. 

But he must have shifted his weight without meaning to in the intensity of his observation, because the old floorboards underneath his feet creaked enough to alert Rufus to his presence.

Rufus’s head snapped up and his eyes flew open. A second stretched into years as they looked at each other through the narrow sliver of space. It took Tseng another half-second to remember himself, and he closed the door, put his back against it. 

On the other side of the door, there was only silence, a judging, waiting, patient silence.

Finally, Tseng trusted himself enough to speak. “Sir, it’s Tseng.” 

“Give me a minute,” Rufus said, and Tseng couldn’t hear even the slightest hint of embarrassment in his voice. Then he heard the rustle of the young man no doubt tucking all parts of himself back into place. After that, Tseng heard soft footfalls approach the door and stepped aside. For the first time in years, he had to think of his posture. It was nice to distract himself with the basics—straight spine, shoulders back, hands held loosely at the sides within reasonable reach of his gun inside his jacket.

Finally, Rufus emerged, fully dressed. He’d even bothered to tie a tie, though the knot was hurried and crooked. There was still a faint flush to his cheeks, but he looked much more annoyed than embarrassed. He ran a hand through his hair and cast Tseng a darkly suspicious look. “What in Shiva’s name are you doing here? I wasn’t expecting you.” 

Tseng shrugged. He’d since come back to his senses. Sometimes it took a moment, and whether he’d meant to or not, Rufus had given him just what he needed. 

“I don’t think I need to remind you, sir, but you’re in no condition to dictate guests,” Tseng said. 

Rufus’s jaw tightened. “You mean, because I’m a prisoner now.” 

Tseng had, by now, some experience in wrangling people who didn’t want to be wrangled. He didn’t particularly enjoy this aspect of his position, but he’d be straight out of a job if he didn’t learn how to make do. “Well, look at it this way, instead of being a prisoner and more importantly, alive, we could have left you for dead.” 

“You and I both know that’s not true.” Rufus smiled. The curve of his mouth was jagged and terrible. “You’ve been with the Company too long to be disloyal to it.” 

“I’m loyal to the Shinra Company, yes,” Tseng assented with a reticent dip of his head; this gesture was habitual—every time he heard the name of his employer, he couldn’t help but give into the urge to look at his feet. It was an old habit, most recently transferred onto the omniscient presence of Shinra, but first pressed into Tseng as a boy in his Wutai village, where pagodas to old, near-forgotten deities were nearly as numerous as the village’s (mostly) worshipful inhabitants. 

“Well, then there you have it. You would have been duty-bound to save me. Especially since you’re a Turk.” Rufus tugged at his tie, as if he’d just noticed that it was crooked. 

“You are not the Company, sir.” Rufus knew that, and what’s more, would hate to hear it stated so plainly. “In fact, as of this moment, you’re its very antithesis.” 

Rufus made an annoyed sound in his throat, but otherwise didn’t respond. He dropped his hand. The tie was still undone and the top two buttons of his collar were open, exposing the still slightly flushed skin of his throat and collarbone. 

Tseng ducked his eyes again before he gave in to the urge to stare. An urge, he found, that was still vaguely connected to the warmth in his groin which hadn’t quite fully subsided in the way that he’d like. 

“You have no idea who you’re talking to, do you, Tseng? Where do you get off calling me an _antithesis_.” The shape of Rufus’s mouth was back in a thin line, lean and cruel, at the mercy of his new station. 

Tseng nearly winced at _where do you get off_ , but just raised his eyes. “I’m merely stating a fact, sir. The information you chose to share with AVALANCHE set us back years.” Then Tseng added, “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

Rufus arched a brow. “You don’t, do you?” 

Tseng cleared his throat and shook his head. “No.”

Any other time, Rufus might have pressed the point; it would have been his asserted right. Back in the days of his Vice Presidency, executive meetings might have dragged on and on because of Rufus’s insufferable eye for detail, but now, he shrugged and seemed to lose interest. The way he stepped around Tseng, felt deliberate, somehow, as Rufus missed brushing by his shoulder by less than an inch. Despite himself, Tseng was grateful for the reprieve. 

A reprieve that lasted not more than two seconds, because as soon as he turned his attention back to Rufus again, he was dismayed to find him comfortable on the sofa, and devoting all of his attention to a small split in the opposite wall. Though not entirely obvious by any means, the split was the result of some too hurried plaster that concealed a hidden camera. 

Rufus was staring at the split in the wall, as if he was just seeing it for the first time. But this, was a deliberate falsehood. Rufus had lived within these four walls for nearly a month now, and one of the first things he’d done, was inventory all the ways that he could be watched. The Turks had watched him do it, and they’d all been impressed. 

A dreadful silence settled, and then finally Rufus spoke: “Who’s watching me right now?” 

Tseng didn’t need to glance at his watch, as he always had a good sense of time ticking by, if only to make sure that Reno (and more recently Shotgun) weren’t late for their shifts. Tseng liked her, but Shotgun would do well not to follow too closely in the footsteps of the Turk’s vice-chief, especially if she wanted to move up in the ranks. “It’s supposed to be Reno’s shift.” 

“I see.” Rufus seemed to consider this very carefully. “Do you suppose he saw me masturbate?”

“...Well.” In the back of his head, Tseng thought he’d prepared for this question. After all, he’d been subconsciously (or not so much) toying with an answer for the past couple of minutes. But now, when push came to shove, he had...nothing. “You know how he is, always late for work. I can’t really say.” This too, bought time, although at a cost. 

Rufus took this in, too, as he trailed his sticky gaze from the barely patched seam in the wall to Tseng’s shoes, and then back up again to pin Tseng to the spot. Time was a luxury, and Rufus looked like he intended to make the most of his clear calendar. He could waste time just like it was another goddamn privilege. Fuck you. Fuck you slowly, and not to mention very much. 

“Does Reno know you speak about him like that?” 

“You mean, does Reno know I speak about him behind his back?” Tseng corrected. It wasn’t like Rufus to be coy, but perhaps coy wasn’t the right word for what he was doing either, testing the waters, pushing a boundary. “Hazard of the job, sir. He’s unlikely to run me in to HR, if it’s optics you’re worried about.”

Rufus laughed. “You think I’m worried about fucking _optics_.” 

Tseng had never heard Rufus Shinra laugh before and the strange sound hit him like a truck. The only bulwark he had to hand was that he’d heard Rufus swear lots of times (always in private). “No, sir. I—” He felt very keenly now that he was the one running out of time, as if it was a rush of Lifestream, something infinitely precious slipping through his fingers. “—I wasn’t trying to imply that, no.” 

“Good.” Rufus nodded. He was thinking again, eyes slipping shut as he wound the fat end of his tie between his fingers. This could be a good thing or a bad thing, but maybe Tseng didn’t have to stick around to find out.

The trick now was to find an exit; to leave in a way that didn’t seem completely obvious that he was scoping for an escape. Tseng said, squaring himself up, “Sir, if there isn’t anything else, I have other business.” He got as far as the front door (the apartment seemed infinitesimally tiny and of course _that_ was a good thing). 

At least, for now. 

“I’ve brought you some blackened sugar rolls,” Tseng said, mostly as a throwaway, well-placed to sound as if he’d only just remembered. “Something to tide you over until dinner. I’ve sent Shotgun on a sortie with Rude, so it might be a little later than what you’d expect.” He subjected what he was going to say next to only a second’s debate—decided that there was no harm in being polite. And the longer Tseng let what he’d seen stew between them, the more Rufus might think of weaponizing it against him. So sounding as neutral as he could manage given the circumstance, he added, “And I suppose, to ah, apologize for my intrusion.” 

As Tseng reached for the doorknob, he was aware of Rufus’s gaze now sticking to the base of his spine, like he was considering all the ways that Tseng might come to harm. 

Finally, Rufus made a noise in his throat that was irritation and something else—if Tseng gave it more credence in his head, he could have found it to be _disbelief_. As if Rufus didn’t think Tseng had the real gumption to address what’d just happened. 

But then he recovered: “...That sounds like you _meant_ to walk in on me masturbating, hey. But you might as well have the balls to admit it.” 

Tseng wished Rufus would stop saying the word “masturbating.” He also wished too, that his instincts and memory weren’t so well honed to recall just from that, every detail that he’d collected just by standing outside Rufus’s bedroom door. 

“I—” Tseng began, and then cut himself off again. “You sound pleased, sir. Did you want to be caught?” 

“That’s hardly the point. Turn around and look at me,” Rufus said, “I might be your prisoner, but my name is still Rufus Shinra. And you _will_ look at me.” 

Invoking the name “Shinra” (even technically out of context) was a sure way to get Tseng to do nearly anything. It was possibly the only thing that was predictable about him and only two people on the entire Planet could take advantage. One wouldn’t. 

But the other…

Tseng shifted around. He watched his posture again, spine straight, hands at his sides. Relaxed, not balled into fists. 

“Sir?” 

Rufus adjusted his position on the sofa. Straightening his back until his spine was straight as the ramrod that life had recently decided to shove up his—no. The young man folded his hands neatly, as though remembering the teachings of a faceless governess. But mostly, it seemed as if Rufus was saying “fuck you.”. 

Rufus’s tie was still loose, and it was starting to look absurd in the face of his formal behavior. He tucked his chin down towards his throat and made another sound, this time, a slightly unhappy one. 

“Come help me do my tie, Tseng.” 

There was no punishment for just leaving, Tseng thought. Not now, when the place he was leaving was a dingy apartment in the Slums that no one knew about. Were he leaving the fineries of Rufus’s office (not as big as his father’s, but still on the top floor where the glass to ceiling windows let in plenty of sunlight), he might have thought twice.

Maybe he was still thinking twice. 

Tseng crossed over to the couch, where Rufus waited, still and patient. Rufus was breathing evenly, with no indication that he was holding anything at bay. There was no telling anything in his trousers, either. However, Tseng refused to be lulled into a false sense of security, for he knew it to be exactly that. He knelt, the urge to get on his knees wasn’t that it was entirely sensible, but also because he was aware of Rufus’s intent, the way it sought to crush him and swallow him up. Something else Tseng wasn’t terrible at, he thought, was picking his battles. 

Rufus’s tie was in a class of its own compared to Tseng’s, now that he had the wide end in hand and could study it. He’d only seen ties spun from Mideel silk a handful of times: on Rufus, on grovelling politicos who’d dressed their best to impress the President. Oddly, Tseng couldn’t remember the President himself ever donning Mideel silk, even for formal occasions. This wasn’t to say that Tseng didn’t take pride in his appearance, but Mideel silk was something else. Once, an aunt had procured a bolt of the stuff through her work as a seamstress. Somebody had commissioned a wedding kimono and wanted to spare no expense. The aunt had let him touch it, after she supervised him washing his hands as if he’d been a toddler and not a respectable boy of ten. Tseng remembered the bright natural sheen of the fabric even now. 

He couldn’t help but let his fingers linger over the subtle pattern, two shades of dark indigo interlaid together. It would be unusual for ties made of Mideel silk to be spun with ostentatious patterns; that would have been widely regarded as a sign of disrespect. 

Rufus sat still and watched him out of the corner of one eye, saying nothing. 

First, Tseng moved to do up the buttons that exposed Rufus’s throat. He managed to do that without touching Rufus _too_ much and—

“Do you like my tie, Tseng?” Rufus sounded almost amused. He touched indulgence with the edge of his voice; feather light as if he was caressing Mideel silk. 

Tseng couldn’t quite bring himself to say yes. He wasn’t admitting to high crime or treason, just for having a preference. But somehow, said preference always felt like a crime when a man couldn’t afford what he liked. He worked slowly, savoring the way the fabric felt against his fingers. Tseng didn’t have any younger siblings, but he’d been mentoring Turks for the better part of a decade and none of them (save a select few that’d been sent to the Shinra Company to curry favor) knew how to properly knot a tie. As a result, Tseng now knew how to tie a tie forwards, backwards, with one hand tied behind his back; hell, maybe even when he was asleep. 

“Who doesn’t like Mideel silk?” Tseng countered. It was a good answer, he thought, true, without giving anything away. “Especially now, when authentic silk is getting harder and harder to come by.” Now, he took the narrow end of the tie and threaded it carefully through the even-angled knot that was taking shape, tucking it carefully towards the back. Then, he pulled the wide end through the front of the knot, and Tseng gave himself a brief moment to admire his handiwork. 

“There. I’m finished,” Tseng said. When he started to get up, he was slightly alarmed to find that his knees wanted to protest such sudden movement. Perhaps he’d been on his knees for a little longer than he meant to. “If there isn’t anything else—”

“There is,” Rufus said, but he seemed distracted, running his fingers over the smooth material, one got the sense that he wasn’t so much interested in the silk as he was in the strange intricate knot that now adorned his throat. “You didn’t answer my question. But that’s all right. If you want the tie, you can have it.” 

“Sir?” 

“It felt like you were forming an...affinity with the silk, say? And I have other ties. I think most of them are made from Mideel silk. I’d hardly miss one.” Rufus looked him up and down. 

The story about his aunt the seamstress came to mind, but the more Tseng thought about it, the more he wanted to keep that to himself. “...And? What would you want from me in return?” 

Rufus Shinra never gave away anything for free. Not when he had you by the balls. While this was hardly the case here, caution was ever thick in Tseng’s blood and a risk wasn’t worth taking unless he knew everything that could be lost. Tseng could live without the tie, as rarefied as it was, he’d probably never wear it anyway in any decent company; but here was a chance to learn something. In what way Rufus would choose to flaunt his privilege when he was a prisoner. 

“It’d hardly cost you anything.” A slow smile stretched on Rufus’s lips, making the usually stern line of his mouth wide and even more cruel than usual. “I’d just like you to get back on your knees. And maybe suck my cock while you’re at it.” 

...

It took Tseng a moment—okay, maybe a couple of moments—to process the words that had just come out of Rufus Shinra’s mouth. He hadn’t played poker in some years, but he was no novice when it came to holding in reactions at the most inopportune times. He’d never been so grateful than now, to be in possession of this talent. 

However, words still escaped him. What Tseng eventually managed was: “I beg your pardon?” 

Rufus said, matter-of-factly, “You can have this tie if you suck my cock. I know you heard me the first time, but I don’t mind saying it again, I guess.” 

Tseng thought about the hooker parade outside. He wondered if any of them had actual papers, or indeed, carried around with them proof of their latest shots. Either way, he disliked the idea of letting them into the apartment and looked to buy some time. “If it’s company you want, sir, I think—” 

“No company.” Rufus shook his head. “Besides, I wouldn’t trust anyone in the slums to come anywhere near my dick.” 

Tseng said, faintly, “...And you trust me?” 

“I’m supposed to trust you with my life,” Rufus said, giving him a bit of a funny look, almost like he was imploring Tseng to _get his shit together_. “When you think about it in those terms, then my cock is a s—minor thing, compared to the rest of me.” 

The slip didn’t pass Tseng by, though he kept still. As far as he was concerned, Rufus had just given him another gift, and he’d do well not to squander it. And judging by the sudden pink flush to Rufus’s face, he’d realized that too. 

And then Rufus doubled down, because perhaps this was what he’d do in a Billabong poker game. He was both young enough and rich enough to take the risk. He cleared his throat and said, “Or has it never occurred to you that I might want something like that from you? Good and proper as I am.” 

Rufus was who knew how many months past his twentieth birthday. Prior to his disappearance from the midst of Midgar’s high society, he had had any number of people. People that’d sometimes ended up in the back of Tseng’s car on a sordid early morning, looking worse for wear. 

Tseng shrugged, he still wasn’t as relaxed as he’d have liked. “Don’t give yourself too little credit, sir. I know you’re not either of those things. But I’m not for sale, not for something as paltry as that. Nor do I have any use for your tie. Wearing that in my day to day is an open invitation for someone to cut my neck, and I get enough exercise as it is. ” 

Rufus got up from the sofa. He tugged at his newly knotted tie although Tseng knew—they both knew—that it wasn’t crooked. Then he went and stood not two inches away from Tseng. Tseng felt the door knob drive against his spine as he backed up. Mostly, he tried to convince himself, it was out of professional deference 

“You think I’m trying to buy you?” Rufus’s voice was full of warm, nearly intimate derision. “I don’t need to. I’ll be running this place before long.” 

Tseng tried to look anywhere but Rufus. He found himself staring at the one naked camera that was pointed right at the door. “You’re not doing anything until you speak to the President and show remorse. We both know that you’re a long way away from that.” 

(So far, Rufus had refused to speak to his father. It was Tseng’s job to ask him before their briefings, and the answer was the same every time. _“With all due respect, please tell Mr. President to go fuck himself.”_ )

Rufus shrugged. “You’re not the only one with a long memory, Tseng. All right, then get me something else.” 

Tseng almost held his breath. “Such as?” 

“Some visual aids, to start.” Rufus stepped back finally. He went back to the sofa and made himself comfortable. The expression on Tseng’s face must have been one of slight disbelief, so Rufus reiterated. “Pornography, for the uninitiated.” 

Tseng exhaled. “I knew what you meant. I just...you’re only asking me this _now_.”

“I couldn’t find an appropriate segue before,” Rufus said. He spread his hands, delicate and white, as if he’d never done an honest day’s work in his life. The gesture was maybe trying to play at some form of apology. “But now the secret’s out. I might as well not be bored out of my skull. Press my advantage.”


	2. advantage

Back at HQ, Tseng was relieved to find Reno more or less asleep. However a half-smoked, still lit cigarette lay nearby in an ashtray, suggesting that this dereliction of duty was only a recent development. So perhaps it was too early to celebrate. 

On one of the screens, Rufus had left his perch on the sofa to rummage through the bag that Tseng had left in the kitchen. The quality of the surveillance tape was not the greatest, the tech at least a generation (or perhaps even two) behind but it did the job and Tseng thought Rufus appeared pleased as he bit into one. He even ate with his hands, like a normal person, taking care to lick the sticky sweet black seeds off his fingers. 

Tseng stared for a second, and then remembered himself. No, Rufus knew better than those who watched him that he was being surveilled; best not to get drawn in at all. He knocked the back of Reno’s chair and the man grunted. 

“ ’M awake, geez,” Reno mumbled. He shifted to glance at the screens with only a bit of interest until he saw Rufus licking his fingers. And just like that, he was wide awake as he swiveled his chair around, fixing Tseng with a look that was equal parts curious and amused. “Lemme guess. You bought the brat a treat again, didn’t you, boss? What’s he chewing on this time?” 

“It’s dangerous to talk about Vice President Shinra as if he’s some kind of dog. And I bought him some rolanberry jam rolls. I figured, since his dinner is going to be late anyway.” Tseng sat himself down in a vacant chair and pretended to be occupied with his firearm. It probably needed cleaning. He was glad to discover this, because it at least meant he had a disciplined evening ahead of him. 

“Not if I know the dog is rabid as fuck, which, you know I do. And I treat it as such, to its face, yo.” Reno yawned and stretched, tipping his head back to crack his neck. 

“Sometimes, I’m not so sure that you do know that.” 

Reno clicked his tongue and shook his head. “You wound me, boss. You really do.” 

“You want me to mind your feelings, then perhaps you should have joined a nursery,” Tseng said, and instantly regretted it. For one thing, he knew in his right mind that Reno was joking. Yes, sometimes his sense of humor was off-kilter and ill-timed and sometimes he showed up to his shifts (“to serve my time,”) with a broken nose or a bent elbow on account of such things. But Tseng prided himself on understanding this part of Reno. He also liked to think that he left his second-in-command a long leash and just let him get on with things. Thanks to Reno, most of the sectors were crawling with useful CIs. 

“Kid got on your nerves that much, did he?” was all Reno said. He took up his cigarette again and started to inhale, only to realize that it was no longer lit. 

“Here, let me.” Tseng extended a hand to stop Reno from fumbling for a lighter. Usually, he’d never abuse materia for something as simple as lighting a cigarette, but he supposed he did owe the man an apology, and hoped it'd be taken as such. It seemed to be fine, as Reno made a deeply appreciative noise as he breathed in from his newly lit cigarette. Then he leaned away again and got comfortable. 

Tseng prompted, “I thought you weren’t asleep.” 

“Well, I.” Reno rolled his eyes. “Mi-ight have closed my eyes for five minutes, tops. I miss anything good?” 

Tseng didn’t reply. Mostly, he was busy feeling relieved, like he’d gotten away with something he shouldn’t have.

But he had to give Reno something, and luckily, there was something that Tseng needed him to do. The more he dwelt on it, the more Tseng became convinced that his second-in-command was the perfect man for the job. 

So Tseng took the plunge.

“You mean, besides him asking for some pornography to pass the time?” 

Reno’s eyes widened, and just for a moment, he appeared to forget about the lackadaisical facade he generally wore to piss everyone off. He sat up straight, the picture of a good, mindful Turk, letting his cigarette dangle from the corner of his mouth. It looked absurd. Tseng almost laughed, but managed not to. 

Then Reno got a hold of himself. “Sorry. Who asked you _what_? Right. I’m gonna rewind the tape.” His hand hovered dangerously over the control panel. Usually, the feed played without audio unless prompted, but all Reno or anyone had to do was press a button. 

“Vice President Rufus Shinra asked me to procure him some pornography,” Tseng said dryly, using Rufus’s title for full effect. He was not an ungenerous person; Tseng felt himself to be a fair, mindful superior, and he did believe fundamentally in brandishing the proverbial carrot more than the stick. “I feel that’s more your wheelhouse.”

Reno snorted. “Wow. He hates his old man that much. He’d rather ask you for pornography than apologize.” 

“My sentiments exactly.” 

“Kinda offended though, boss, like,” Reno said. He leaned back finally and drew a lazy circle in the air with his cigarette. The control panel was a healthy distance away from him again, and that was a good thing. “When you say it’s ‘my wheelhouse’? Whaddaya mean by that?” 

“I meant I only know that one place we raided in Sector 2 and I’d rather not go there.” Tseng gave him a look. “What did you think I meant?” 

“Oh, that I have sterling taste in dirty mags and videos. I mean, I do. But it’s not something I’d advertise around the office or, y’know, _tell my boss_.” Reno waggled his eyebrows in an exaggerated fashion. “But ’s fine, I guess you can keep a secret.” 

“Where would I be without all my secrets,” Tseng agreed idly. “Speaking of, can I trust you not to tell Rude or the others?” 

“Aw, really?” 

“Yes, really.” Tseng nodded. “You _do_ realize we’ll have to work for Rufus one day. Not so good if no one in the room can keep a straight face.” 

“And you think _Rude_ will suffer especially from this problem,” Reno said, unconvinced. “Enough for you to specifically call him out. What are you not telling me, yo?” He leaned over the control panel again and Tseng scooted closer, both to shove the ashtray underneath Reno’s cigarette and to make sure he didn’t rewind the tape. 

“Nothing. Be careful, will you?” Tseng glanced pointedly between the control panel and Reno’s cigarette. “If I’m going to have to put in a request for new equipment on account of you smoking, then I’m going to be cross.” 

Reno scanned Tseng’s face methodically, impervious to distraction. They were close together now and Reno was as good, if not better than Tseng at taking a little weakness and busting it wide open. 

But Reno had been a Turk for some years too, and some of his rough slummish edges had been filed off, and replaced with a smooth deference for authority figures that he actually respected. This was a very small list, consisting of exactly one and a half persons: Veld, and Tseng on a good day. (Possibly not today.) 

“Well.” Reno shrugged finally. “You’re the boss and them’s the rules.” He tipped his head towards the ceiling again. “So...what are the rules?” 

Tseng must have looked confused for a good minute, because Reno reached forward and clicked his gloved fingers plainly in front of Tseng’s face. Tseng said, blinking, “What rules?” 

“And here I was trying to be subtle.” Reno rubbed his temples, in a rare show of irritation, as if Tseng really should know better. (He wasn’t exactly wrong, but Tseng was determined to save that bit of self-reflection for later, much later, never.) 

Reno said, gesturing with his cigarette before he took another long drag, “What does the brat—excuse me, _Vice President Shinra_ —want to watch? Because you know, buying porn for somebody like that is like...something. Dunno what, but you gotta give me more to work with if you want me to take one for the team.” 

“I…” While some of the finer (un)workings of his grand plan to combat Rufus’s boredom and Shiva forbid, his _hormones_ were clear to Tseng from the beginning, he hadn’t thought about asking Rufus for his preferences. “You’re not taking one for the team, Reno. It’s hardly as terrible as all that. Besides.” Tseng cleared his throat, making a point. “Your name’s never going to come up. I’ll protect you. But...I also take your point.” Now he dipped his head to avoid looking directly at Reno. “I’ll get you some specifics.” 

“And how’re you going to do that, boss?” Reno was still dangerously close to the console, and he was sure taking his time. 

“You let me worry about that,” Tseng said. “Just don’t rewind the tape. That’s an order.” 

“Is that an order for other people who aren’t me? Like, should I pass on this order?” 

“Don’t push it.” Tseng rolled his eyes. “Now get the hell out. Go home, take a nap.” 

Reno raised himself up from his chair, taking a moment to stretch until they both heard his back crack. Then he headed towards the door saluting as he went. “Aye, aye, boss, whatever you say.” 

*

When Shotgun entered HQ, Tseng was cleaning his piece. Onscreen, Rufus looked like he was getting ready to take a shower. Tseng looked away from the screen and studied her for something else to do. She was from an entrepreneurial family, who saw all the good that hoarding the springs could do and Shotgun had a tendency to carry herself about two inches above ground as a result of it. 

She greeted him after hanging up her jacket on a peg. “Hey, boss. Didn’t know you were still here. It’s my shift, yes? I haven’t misremembered.” The informal slang didn’t quite sit well on her tongue, which up until now had only known proper speech. But if someone like Rufus Shinra could learn to swear like a seaman stuck on a rig, then there was hope for Shotgun yet. 

Tseng wasn’t the sort of boss that believed in staying later than his subordinates in order to berate them or indeed, to prove a point. It’d just worked out this way recently. The fact was that Tseng was worried about the tape being rewinded (either accidentally or intentionally) but it’d been several days, nearly a week. Tomorrow, Tseng would be due to brief the President once again about Rufus’s situation.

Safe to say, he’d have nothing new to report. 

Rufus was undressing en route to his bathroom. First, he removed his tie and then shucked off his shirt; after that he drew his under-shirt over his head, revealing his bare back. The bathroom was the only room in the apartment to have any modicum of privacy and Rufus knew this. But he must have cared a little about how the rest of it looked because he left his trousers on and didn’t shuck them too before he got to the bathroom. 

“Anyway, was there something I missed, sir?” Back to _sir_. Shotgun looked more comfortable already. She settled in the chair next to his, and before she could pay too much attention to the screens in front of them, Tseng turned his chair around. 

Tseng said, “You haven’t misremembered. I just stepped in here because I’d.” He had no idea how to finish that sentence. Finally, he switched tack. “Listen, I’ll swap you; I’ve double-booked myself tomorrow anyway, and I know you’ve done nights the last couple of shifts. It’d make me feel better if you’d go home and get some rest.” 

Shotgun regarded him with a slightly suspicious look, but Tseng angled the chair just so, so that she couldn’t keep track of the screens out of the corner of her eye. Shotgun crossed her arms, started to cross her legs too, but decided against it. “I thought only rookies get the night shift.” 

“So maybe you’re not a rookie anymore. You’ve been doing good work. It ought to be recognized.” Tseng wasn’t lying, for once, and this made things easier. He added, “And a good night’s sleep never hurt anyone.” 

“I suppose not,” Shotgun said. She started to get up and then stopped halfway. But she was disciplined enough to hold still. “If you’re _sure_ , sir.” A small smile played at her lips. “Thank you.” 

“I’m sure. Good night, Shotgun.” 

She bowed, got her things and closed the door behind her. Tseng could hear her footsteps fading down the hall. When he couldn’t hear them anymore, he got up to check; it was only when he was certain that he was alone, that Tseng locked the door to HQ and retreated to his chair. 

Rufus had just come out of the shower. His hair was damp, and he was wrapped up in a cozy-looking blue robe, the same shade as his Mideel silk tie from the other day. 

Before Tseng could change his mind, or tell himself again that this was a terrible idea, he rang Rufus on his PHS. The young man went swiftly to his bedroom and retrieved the device from a drawer. 

“Rufus Shinra speaking.” 

Somehow, _what kind of pornography would you like me to procure you, sir?_ didn’t seem like an appropriate opening line. It never had been. If Tseng turned away from the screens and closed his eyes, he could easily see Rufus dressed in a crisply-pressed white suit, a neatly-knotted tie, killing time, and perhaps plotting to kill something else too. He’d be standing before the glass walls that surrounded his office, surveying the city he all but owned. 

“It’s Tseng, sir.” 

At the mention of his name, Rufus raised his head to glance slowly around the bedroom, until he found the camera. It wasn’t entirely clear given the angle, but perhaps he was smirking, thinking he’d won. “Hello, Tseng. To what do I owe the pleasure of this call? Have you thought any more about my proposal?” 

Tseng sighed. He was certain he’d locked the door to HQ, but something spurred him to get up from his chair and check. It wasn’t that he wanted to get away from Rufus’s darkly inquisitive look through the feed, of course not. “If you would like to get technical about it, what you want isn’t really a proposal.” 

“Which thing are we talking about? I’d like to get specific so I don’t make a mistake in assuming. That’s something my old man would do.” Rufus kicked his slippers off and adjusted himself on the bed. He lay on his side, cradling the PHS in one hand. “Let’s start with where you are right now. Are you at home?” 

“I’m at my home away from home. At HQ.” It was too late to lie, and suddenly, pulling a late shift seemed like a terrible idea. But once Tseng had committed to an idea, he was in for a penny, in for a pound. The next shift change wouldn’t be until dawn, when Reno and Rude returned from their stint guarding the President, who was scheduled to make an appearance at a charity gala downtown. 

“Are you watching me right now?” 

“Yes, I am.” 

“Good for you,” Rufus said, and made a pleased sound in his throat. It wasn’t exactly a nice sound, but it made Tseng shiver anyway. “Now, we’re finally getting somewhere. Are we talking about the pornography or the fact that I’d still like you to suck my cock?” 

Parts of Tseng’s gun still needed cleaning. The parts sat on the raised platform next to the control panel and seemed to be looking at him reproachfully for his neglect.

“Well, both. A proposal has implications and larger ramifications. Both the…” Tseng steeled himself. “The pornography and the—the cocksucking are just things you’d like to pass the time. You could get yourself out of this situation just as easily. Easier than convincing me to do what you want, I think.” 

Rufus wasn’t looking at him now. Instead, he lay flat on his back and trailed his free hand down his body. “I got you to say cocksucking, didn’t I? Didn’t even know you had that in your vernacular, Tseng. You see, I’m good at getting what I want.” 

Tseng should hang up. And after he’d hung up, maybe he should erase the tape. 

There was a telling wet sound at the other end. Tseng shut his eyes tightly only to open them to witness Rufus Shinra sucking his own fingers. Then he spat into his palm. When he undid the tie of his robe, Tseng could see that he was already hard, but not as hard as he’d been the other day. (And he wasn’t exactly small, either.) 

“Sir, what are you doing?” 

“I’m sanctioning your bad habit, Tseng,” Rufus said. “You might have happily stood there for an age, if the floor hadn’t given you away.” He stroked himself leisurely, slowly. It wasn’t from so much a need for self-control this time, as much as it was a bid to control others; something Rufus excelled at.

And they both knew it. 

Tseng took much-needed refuge in his gun. He checked its empty chambers and made sure they were good and clean using a brush dabbed with a cleaning solution. “I don’t have a bad habit. It’s not as if I’ve signed up just to stare at you for five hours. It’s not good for my rookies to always be pulling nights. I could be doing other things. I _am_ doing other things.” 

Rufus wasn’t about to let up. “Whereas I’m just…” A small whine punctuated increasingly labored breathing. He thrust into his hand, the rhythm only slightly stuttered. So holding back, but not much.

And just like that Tseng was enthralled again. He settled his hands on his lap and breathed, even, steady. The heat was back, pulsing gently from the back of his skull to the head of his dick. The one thing Tseng tried not to do was not to think about his cock at work. (That being said, a Turk was never truly off the clock, even though this counted as overtime.)

“Thinking about my mouth on your cock, sir?” Tseng said. Well, that’d come out and he couldn’t take it back. He pursed his mouth to wet his lips, although his throat felt dry. 

“Something like that. Oh, _fuck_.” The way Rufus’s voice changed just from that buried itself deep in Tseng and he nearly—

Then his PHS beeped with another incoming call. 

“Sir, I have to...I have to take this.” 

Rufus’s eyes opened and he sat up on the bed as if someone had released a spring to snap him upright. Looked almost wildly around for the camera to orient himself again. Tseng imagined Rufus’s pupils were blown wide with arousal and in another life, he might have let himself enjoy the thought. “Wait, wait, don’t—” 

Tseng sucked in a deep breath and let it out. He swiveled his chair around so he wasn’t looking at the screens. Willed his voice to be even. Cut the call and switched lines. 

“Rude?” 

“Sir, I’m sorry to bother you at home. But something’s happened at the gala.” Rude’s clipped, practical voice telling him all the facts was a relief. A soothing balm against terrible ideas. 

“I’m not at home, but never mind. What happened?” 

“Someone took a shot at the President. And we had to call a bomb squad. We have it under control, but we didn’t want you to be ambushed with it tomorrow during the briefing. So we thought it best to let you know right away,” Rude said, and there was no underlying insinuation regarding the fact that Tseng’s line had been busy, or that he wasn’t at home. Not that Rude would have had any way of knowing the latter. Not to mention there wasn’t anything inherently odd about Tseng’s being at HQ at this hour. 

“I appreciate that.” Tseng really really did. With a mission in mind, the bad ideas that had been gathering slunk away. Tseng turned around to put his gun back together in record time, not even bothering to glance at the screens. 

Then Tseng stood up with purpose. “I’ll be there in fifteen, I want to see the damage for myself.” 

*

The charity gala was held at the Midgar opera house, a shiny monument to excess like everything else in the city. It’d been built to mark an occasion (exactly what Tseng didn’t remember) but as a joke, Tseng had always thought the opera house had been erected to celebrate his being in the employ of Shinra for a mostly unlucky seven years. If he survived this year, he would have been with the Company for fourteen. Nearly a whole life all its own counted in unlucky sevens. 

“Hey, boss. Sorry to rouse you from your beauty sleep, yo.” Reno strode up to him, his mag-rod slung over his shoulder. Faint electricity crackled from it, which suggested the weapon had been in use recently. Reno also had a slight cut under his eye, but he didn’t appear worried, and so neither was Tseng. Reno said, “Rude insisted that we ring you.” 

“Well, he did right.” Tseng looked around. The large auditorium was all but deserted, with a couple of techs working on what looked like fairly basic charges. A good sign. It meant whoever the enemy were, they weren’t particularly well supplied. Meager supplies usually meant lots of begging around, which in turn meant a lot of footprints that could be traced. 

Reno shrugged. “Yeah well, you missed all the excitement. There’re a few runners, but I’ve sent some SOLDIERs after them. Rude’s with the Prez. You came all the way out here for nothing.” 

“I was at HQ,” said Tseng, shrugging back. “It wasn’t far.” 

Reno gave him a look. Before Tseng could enquire further, a rumbling of SOLDIER footsteps got both of their attention and they turned around. Between two SOLDIERs clad in the usual uniform blue, was a young man (around the same age as Rufus, Tseng couldn’t help but notice) with close-cropped hair and a slightly dented iron bangle over his upper right arm. Of course the materia slot was empty. One of the SOLDIERs aimed a precise kick behind his knees and the man buckled onto the ground. 

Tseng said, “Just one? I thought you sent SOLDIERs after stragglers, plural.” 

Reno tapped his mag-rod casually against his shoulder. “I did.” He looked, in sharp contrast to his usual, winsome what-the-fuck self, completely serious. 

The SOLDIERs looked at each other, mentally playing the blame game until they gave up and hung their heads. “They got away, sir.” 

“That’s _wonderful_. Fucking lovely,” Reno said and when he renewed his grip on his mag-rod, as if to strike, everyone winced but Tseng. “C’mon. Get him into interrogation now. Before we lose him too.” 

*

Since Reno seemed to have their sole prisoner well in hand, Tseng looked around for Rude and the President. Experience dictated that the President would probably be squirreled away somewhere with not a lot of access, easy to defend. Probably with a bird’s eye view of everything.

Following these criteria, Tseng easily found Rude and President Shinra in one of the executive boxes. Tseng appreciated Rude’s instincts, which were to twitch, but not to punch once he realized just who’d breached the door. 

“Sir.” Rude stood straight at attention. “Apologies for bothering you at this hour.” 

“It’s my job,” Tseng said shortly. “Everything okay here?” 

Everything looked mostly fine, anyway. The President looked shocked, but he also looked fine. He tried to stand, but couldn’t, sinking back into the chair, breathing still heavy. 

“Where’s Rufus?” President Shinra demanded. “Have you checked on him?” 

Tseng opened his mouth and closed it. It had been an executive decision on his part not to disclose Rufus’s location to the President, precisely because the President couldn’t give away information he never had in the first place. (Plus, they'd never get away with stashing Rufus in the slums.) “...The Vice President is fine, I spoke to him not fifteen minutes ago. They’re likely not well off enough or savvy enough to hit both of you at once. Did your attackers specifically mention the Vice President? Demand to know his location?” 

On the one hand, President Shinra’s concern for Rufus made sense, in a biological way. Tseng had never had the opportunity to know his own father, but he thought he understood the instinct. It was the same one that compelled him to send Shotgun home. On the other hand, Rufus was obviously intent on squandering his father’s goodwill, which certainly put a different spin on things. 

President Shinra shook his head. “Nothing like that, no, but you can understand why I might be concerned?” 

Tseng bowed low. “Yes, sir, I mean. I understand.” 

“I would like to speak to him.” 

“The last I spoke to him, he said he was going to bed.” 

“Wake him up.” 

Tseng didn’t want to. But following orders had been driven into him, the reflex sharpened and honed. He gave plenty of orders of his own now, but the instinct and the compulsion to obey, when the right strings were tugged at, was natural as anything. Thankfully, the President didn’t demand that he hand over the PHS right away. 

It took a couple of rings for Rufus to pick up and to Tseng’s great relief, Rufus sounded warm and sleepy rather than like he was under any measure of duress. “Tseng, I hope you’re calling to make it up to me.” 

Tseng swallowed. To his chagrin, Rufus’s proposal didn’t sound like a terrible idea, which meant it was a terrible idea. But he got right to the point: “I need you to speak to the President. There’s been an attempt on his life.” 

“Which means he’s still alive,” Rufus pointed out. He seemed disappointed, breathed a noisy sigh through his nose. “All right, I won’t fuck you. We trust and trust alike, don’t we?” 

“We do, sir, yes,” Tseng said between gritted teeth. This earned him a vaguely curious look from Rude and an impatient hum from the President. All in all, Tseng could have done much worse out of the call. He handed over the PHS and stepped back to grant the President and Rufus some privacy. Tseng gestured for Rude to do the same, and together, they stepped outside.


	3. ascent

"So what happens now, sir?” Rude said, glancing down at the auditorium below. The charges seemed to have been disarmed, all the techs gone. The whole place was empty. As usual, Rude was wearing his sunglasses, but even with them on, Tseng could read some measure of worry. But the good thing about Rude was that the man never worried more than he had to. 

“What happens now is…” Tseng wished he had a cigarette. He’d never had an oral fixation before this, but then it was only recently that he started thinking about Rufus Shinra’s cock. “Who knows? We’ve always known that AVALANCHE wasn’t the only threat to the Company. And Rufus might have passed them on information, but we have no way of knowing who else has access to it. But whoever they are, they don’t seem to be very well equipped. We’ve at least got that going for us.” 

“Should we let Shotgun know?” Rude asked, “she could make it over to the apartment. Sit with the Vice President until we’re sure that this has all blown over.” 

“I sent her home,” Tseng said. There was no use lying. “But you saw me speak to Rufus just now. He’ll be fine. If we need to figure out a new rotation regarding his security, then we will. But there’s no use speculating.”

Rude tilted his head in acknowledgment. If Tseng was doing something stupid, then Rude would only think it and not tell him. “Sir.” 

A moment later, the President emerged. He still looked pale and unsteady on his feet. Assassination attempts were hardly new in the President’s day to day, but he didn’t seem used to them in the slightest. 

President Shinra said, “Rufus tells me you have him under surveillance.” 

“We do, yes,” Tseng said. 

“But he’s not being guarded.”

Tseng said, “It’s difficult to keep up an effective guard rotation with the manpower we have at present. But we make sure he’s looked after. And he’s in a secure location. Of that I’m certain.” 

President Shinra didn’t look impressed or convinced. He handed Tseng back his PHS and stuck a finger in his chest. “Well, come up with something. Starting _now_. He is my son.” 

Tseng stared at the President. And then he took in all the finery around him desecrated by not any decay or destruction, but by fear. 

“Sir, I understand what you must be feeling, but these attackers targeted _you_ , the public face of the Company at a public event. These are not concerns that I have for the Vice President, I—” 

Somehow, the President didn’t look like he was prepared to be reasonable about this. Tseng couldn’t exactly blame the man, but he was allowed to be privately annoyed about it. “—I’ll guarantee the Vice President’s safety, sir. I just...need to go home and pack a bag.” 

*

“Do I want to know?” Reno said, “Are you just stuck in the slums until further notice now, boss? Do I have to take care of stuff now, y’know, and whatever? Do you still want me to buy porn or…?” 

Tseng had the harrowing feeling that he was being watched. He was lucky enough never to have been under the full crushing weight of absolute surveillance, but he’d sat long enough on the other side to imagine how stifling it must be. It was strange to think Rufus Shinra had spent a month and then some of his life like this. The feed had been cut at Tseng’s insistence and the tapes destroyed, but there was still one pair of eyes glued on him at all times.

“Any luck with the prisoner?” Tseng pressed on. “Did he give up any names?” 

Rufus Shinra appeared before him with a mug of coffee in hand. Instead of drinking from it with as much condescension as humanly possible, he bent and put the mug on the table in front of Tseng. 

Tseng was a bit shell-shocked. So shell-shocked he forgot to listen to what Reno was saying. 

“AFTERSHOCK. Or something.” 

“Aftershock what?” 

Reno said, “AFTERSHOCK, the name of the group. Working on a structure, but my gut is that they ain’t got one; just a disorganized group of whatevers. You should see this guy’s equipment, boss. ’S like everything’s a relic from twenty years ago. You couldn’t even trade it for scraps if you wanted.” He paused. _This is_ what got the President all up in arms?” 

Tseng sighed. “And how is the President?” 

“Shotgun’s with him full time for now. I figure, y’know, pretty lady and all. I heard you gave her the ‘not the rookie anymore’ speech, yo. Figure we celebrate with a big girl job.” 

“As long as you don’t say that to her face. It’s hardly appropriate.” 

Tseng could hear the smirk in Reno’s voice as he said, “I dodge good.” It wasn’t dirty, but Reno said it like it was, which made Tseng roll his eyes. 

(The Turks didn’t exactly have a policy against fraternization; in fact, Tseng would struggle to think of any rules that governed his organization other than “don’t get caught,” “do your job” and possibly, as an appendix note to the first two, “don’t die.” But perhaps, once Tseng got out of this predicament, it was time for a policy review.) 

“Right.” 

“So that’s a no on the porn? Because there’s this serial that’s just come out with _summons materia_ and it’s—” 

Tseng hung up without answering. He pocketed his PHS and stared up at Rufus. And then he stared down at the mug of coffee, still warm to the touch. “Is this poisoned?” He only half meant it as a joke. 

“Is _that_ what you think of me?” Rufus smiled sideways. “What would I even poison it with? You people don’t let me have anything. Here, I’ll prove it to you.” He picked up the coffee and made a big show of drinking from it; more than that, he swallowed. Tseng watched the movement of his throat d. “I can get creative, Tseng, as creative as the next man, but in the end, I can only work with what I’ve got. I’ll thank you not to malign me.” The demonstration over, Rufus put the mug down again and gestured. “Drink your coffee before it gets cold.” 

Rufus did get creative. The more Tseng had looked into the young man’s dealings with AVALANCHE after the fact, the more perturbed he had become. It seemed a very convoluted way to get control of a company with his name already stamped on it. All in all, it seemed much more efficient to hire random mooks to knock off the President. 

Or, if not knock him off, then at least put the fear of Shiva into him. In his older years, fear seemed to be visiting President Shinra more and more. 

Tseng finally reached for the coffee, but he still didn’t drink from it. Then he returned it to the table. The more he held still, the more Rufus looked like he wanted to fidget. 

“Will you tell me something, sir? What did you say to your father at the opera house?” 

Rufus went and took a seat next to Tseng on the couch. He made himself comfortable and adjusted a phantom wrinkle on his left sleeve. Perhaps the reason that Rufus still got up every morning and put on a suit was that it killed some time. “That I’m not being guarded and though I was under surveillance, I understood there to be gaps. Oh, and that it must have been so _very awful_ for him to be shot at.” 

“So _very awful_ for him.” Tseng repeated the words; the derision that laced Rufus’s pronouncement was strange on his tongue; heavy, unwieldy. It nearly reminded him of himself as a green nobody in Midgar, trying to lift the then heavy syllables of the common speech, which was several worlds away from the light-tongued village dialect that he had spoken in Wutai. But he tried, now, to add an unfamiliar layer of derision to his words, the way Rufus did so easily. Tseng could see a rare light that wasn’t completely all hardened cynicism in Rufus’s eyes as the young man looked genuinely pleased. Not pleased because he’d achieved an end goal or ordered somebody’s demise, but just pleased because Tseng had done something amusing. 

“Hey. That’s not too bad,” Rufus said. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to Tseng’s mouth. First, Tseng was distracted by the harsh taste of coffee, and then distracted again by the fact that Rufus was using his body weight to keep Tseng pinned on the couch, all but straddling him. “Do it again.” 

“Do what again, sir?” While this position did afford him some disadvantages - Tseng now had no idea where to put his hands, the advantages didn’t exactly pass him by, either. He settled for putting his hands on either side of Rufus, feeling the smooth line of his hips, and the slight tremor of his want. 

“How _very awful for you_ ,” Rufus said. He tilted his head forward, hair falling into his eyes. He put one finger against Tseng’s mouth, as if trying to discern any trace of cruelty. “Just like that. How _very awful for you_ to have to come up with a guard rotation on the fly.” 

“I thought you weren’t going to fuck me,” Tseng said. “Actually, now that I think about it, this guard rotation did fuck us. Cissnei’s meant to be on sabbatical. I’ve had to pull her back in.”

“Sorry,” Rufus said with a shrug. He didn’t sound sorry about anything. In fact, he sounded exactly the opposite. “If you do what I say next time, maybe I fuck you the nice way, yeah?” 

Tseng opened his mouth. Mostly to tell Rufus that his talking slummish was absurd, but then Rufus just pressed his fingers in against his tongue, past the second knuckle, until Tseng felt the urge to gag. He managed not to, but knew Rufus had felt the involuntary constriction of his throat (and was probably considering applying it, very practically, to other situations). Discomfort aside, Tseng's blood grew hot in anticipation.

When Rufus took his fingers out and shifted closer to him again, Tseng felt the obvious twitch of Rufus’s dick in his nice dress trousers. 

Tseng swallowed. “Don’t talk like that.” 

Rufus stared at him. “Why?” 

“It’s…” Tseng felt himself a little bit torn between several things at once. First, he was aroused; normally, it’d take a lot for him to even admit it, but Rufus had him so backed into a proverbial corner, that it no longer cost him dearly to acknowledge these things—to himself, anyway. Second, Tseng felt an unnatural sound threatening to leave his throat. He really wanted to _laugh_. 

“That accent makes me laugh,” Tseng said. 

Rufus arched an eyebrow at him. “No one’s stopping you from laughing. In fact, I think I’d like to see you laugh.” 

“One of the very few things I can’t do on command, sorry. It’s gone.” As Rufus showed no sign of moving, Tseng moved his hands, dragging them up Rufus’s torso. In his slow, studied journey up Rufus’s body, over his clothes, Tseng’s fingers brushed up against Rufus’s tie. This one a shade of dark green, which oddly brought out the bright blue of his eyes.

And of course, it was Mideel silk. 

He tugged, and Rufus bent, leering still until Tseng bit his lower lip and curled his hand meaningfully around the tie to keep Rufus from moving as they kissed. Tseng didn’t even have the excuse of a drink in him for his behavior. As it turned out, he could bear to do a lot while on guard duty, including sticking his tongue down Vice President Shinra’s throat, but he’d never drink on the job. 

But then Rufus moaned obscenely into his mouth, and that was just as good as the heady rush that Tseng sometimes got from drinking a few too many shots of slum jaeger during regrettable team bonding exercises. 

“...So long as you can still do other things on command. Our deal is still in play,” Rufus muttered against his teeth. “You can have a tie all your own.” 

“I’m almost certain I’d have a less exciting time wearing that tie than seeing you wear it, sir. Besides, it suits you.” 

Rufus shifted once more, straightening back up, and he planted a hand flat on Tseng’s chest to steady himself and to keep from falling over. Tseng got the feeling what Rufus really wanted to do was to adjust his forming erection in his trousers, but also maybe that he wanted to maintain a pretense of discreetness. 

Finally, Rufus stopped fidgeting and stayed still. His face was flushed, and his eyes were dark and clouded over, but at the same time completely alert. “...You almost sound like you’re paying me a compliment, Tseng.” 

Tseng let go of Rufus’s tie and let his hand slide down to rest just above Rufus’s intricate silver buckle. Something else that Tseng might have liked to examine close up if he didn’t have...well, bigger and better things to focus on. He cupped his hand over the clear outline of Rufus’s erection, bringing a fresh meaning to the phrase ‘the family’s crown jewels.’ “Why not? Since you’re paying me one, s—”

“...Rufus,” Rufus breathed out. “But just while we’re fucking. You call me that under any other circumstance and I’ll have your head on a pike.” 

And under any other circumstance, that should have made Tseng shrivel up. But just this once, his dick decided to make an exception and he was full of blood and hard in an instant. 

Rufus noticed, and looked positively giddy. “I should threaten you more often.” He leaned in and skimmed his teeth over the sensitive skin of Tseng’s throat and Tseng bit back a sound. 

Tseng thought about it for a second. “Only when we’re fucking. Otherwise I could still make things _so very awful_ for you, Rufus.” Before Rufus could enjoy that too much, Tseng added, in the tone that he reserved for reprimands. “Now get up.”

The order seemed to disorient Rufus, but he moved to obey, his hands seemingly not really wanting to leave Tseng, but he was up eventually, hands loose and listless at his side. 

Tseng was able to sit upright again and he largely ignored the sneaking start of a crick in his neck. He wet his lips and immediately, Rufus was staring at his mouth. 

“I don’t want your tie. But maybe I want something else, with our deal in play.” Tseng reached for Rufus’s belt buckle and unhooked it. 

“Okay. What the fuck do you want, besides the thrill of the chase?” Rufus said. 

“I don’t think it’s much of a chase if you’re the one who keeps asking me,” Tseng pulled Rufus’s trousers down just enough to take his cock out from the confines of his underwear. “I haven’t decided yet. Move.”

“...Why?” That was a whine. Although Rufus would probably swear upon pain of death that it wasn’t one. 

Tseng looked up at him from his perch on the sofa. “You want me on my knees, don’t you? Then make some room.” 

It’d been some time since Tseng got on his knees for this explicit purpose. But he found that there was a familiar rhythm to it once he got going. There was a very small part of Tseng that wanted to tell Rufus that he’d never sucked cock before just to watch him squirm. 

But Tseng wasn’t an ungenerous man. He had a job to do, and he was going to do it well. Like a good Turk. Even if the job incidentally involved letting Rufus fuck his mouth, hitting the back of his throat as the young man moaned Tseng’s name and swore. Tseng squeezed himself, rutting slowly in response to Rufus’s thrusts until he felt him twitch, hard. One of Rufus’s hands came up to clamp behind Tseng’s neck, and this time he gagged, but not an unreasonable amount. 

Once he caught his breath, Rufus sank down and kissed him, probably a narcissistic exercise, tasting himself. Tseng gasped against Rufus’s mouth as he pulled Tseng’s hand away from his cock and replaced it with his own, all without being asked.

Rufus’s palm was smooth around Tseng’s cock, his touch so unlike Tseng’s own, not least because it was more practiced. Rufus gave Tseng a cursory squeeze, learning the shape of him, and when that elicited a gasp, Rufus grew bolder. He rubbed his thumb around the head, lingering on the sensitive underside. Tseng could barely stop his hips from stuttering when Rufus pressed against his frenulum, instinctively chasing more of his touch. Rufus’s answering smirk was insufferable, and Tseng could think of nothing else to do but kiss him, hearing a chuckle from deep in his throat even as Tseng licked his way into his mouth. 

Tseng broke the kiss with a gasp when Rufus started jerking him off in earnest, those teasing touches forgotten in favour of even, measured strokes. Tseng let his eyes slide shut as Rufus fell into a rhythm, unable to do much else but clutch onto Rufus’s shoulders, as if that could ground him. It wasn’t long before pleasure began to build in Tseng’s gut, a gradual escalation that had Tseng swallowing back his moans.

Rufus knew, of course. He knew that Tseng was close. Rufus redoubled his efforts, tightening his grip until Tseng’s hips were twitching of their own accord, the sensation somehow too much and not enough. 

Tseng came like that, with Rufus pressed against every part of him.

*

Later, they just breathed, leaning against the front side of the sofa. Tseng ran a hand through Rufus’s hair and felt him tilt into the touch. 

Tseng asked, “...Do you know anything about AFTERSHOCK, sir?” The title was back since they weren’t fucking anymore. Those lines were important to keep in place. 

Rufus angled his face towards Tseng, his expression halfway between awe, irritation, and perhaps a dash of disbelief too. “And _that’s_ what you want?” 

“Yes.” Tseng had to clear his throat and rub at his mouth to get his voice to work properly again. His tongue felt a little numb. “It’s something that I can actually use. If you’re going to do yourself a disservice by compromising your own safety, then at least try not to make me look bad.”

Rufus asked, "Aren't you the least bit curious as to how I did it?"

Tseng fixed him with a sideways look. "You say that as if you think I'm not aware of the gaps in your security." Then he added, "Sir." As not to sound smug. 

Rufus laughed. “Were you always this much of a bastard?” 

Tseng shrugged. “Depending how you look at it, yes.” 

“Then I’m not terribly fond of the name,” Rufus said, sighing as he looked down his hands. “But sometimes you can’t expect anything from anyone, can you? No one guarantees you a damn thing. From what I can understand of what my old man told me, nobody even managed to hit him once. It’s a load of shit. But.”

“But?” 

Rufus was looking away from him. “But I learn from my mistakes, Tseng. AVALANCHE thought themselves clever. They were, up to a point. This lot is barely fit for purpose, you saw them at the opera house. Lucky for me my old man scares easily, what with all that’s happened recently.” 

It was starting to get uncomfortable for Tseng on the floor, with come still on his trousers. Though that line of thought was momentarily interrupted as Rufus climbed into his lap and pinned him against the front of the couch. 

“...Sir?” 

“Are you scared of me?” 

It was a question that a boy waving a stick on a playground would ask. There were parts of Rufus Shinra that had yet to leave youth behind, but he was much more than that. And Tseng wasn’t biased just because he’d just sucked Rufus’s cock, either. 

“Maybe I should be, but I’m not.” A beat late, but Tseng added, “Sir.” 

Rufus said, “Then what are you?” 

Tseng might be any number of things. He’d come a long way around the world. He’d wanted a lot of things; given up a lot of things in the name of diligence and service. But then at the end of the day, he was only one thing. Tseng straightened the two ends of Rufus’s tie, which had come slightly loose during their tussle and started to knot it for him again. Rufus was not breathing. He was for once, not full of certainty, but of hope. 

Tseng said, “For as long as I live and breathe, sir. I am, and always will be, a Turk.” 

*

One Thursday later, Tseng was summoned to President Shinra’s office on the top floor of the Shinra Building along with Rufus. Today would be the first day that Vice President Rufus Shinra returned to official Company duties. Tseng nodded to Shotgun on his way in and she nodded back. A few days before, the apartment in Sector 8 had been broken into by a band of intruders that professed to be associated with AFTERSHOCK. Tseng shot one, burnt another, and had Reno come from HQ to arrest the third. (And to clean up. The Vice Chief was not too impressed.) The would-be-assassins all had Jem Rings of a questionable quality, and those were taken away to be traced and studied.

After that, Tseng had immediately relocated Rufus to his old Midgar apartment, which was much better defended anyway. Rufus had thanked him very prettily on his hands and knees, and then again, against the wall, just out of view of a window, but it was the sense of adventure that counted. 

The sun was out and a month without tit meant that Rufus was trying not to wear a grimace while speaking to his father. Tseng was only half listening, until Rufus said, “—Tseng says he’ll continue to be my personal guard, until all this is over. If he hadn’t been there with me, I would have been in peril. Thank you for allowing me a few days to rest.” Thank you was not an apology. Rufus Shinra was very good at saying thank you. 

That he would continue to play the role of the Vice President’s personal protective detail was news to Tseng. But he found himself almost convinced that this was necessary. Rufus Shinra spoke about being in peril with the utmost seriousness, as if he hadn’t been in worse peril all his life. 

The President nodded. “Don’t go too far from here, Rufus. You’re the future of this Company. The future of Shinra.” 

“Yes, Father.” 

“I have a meeting.” President Shinra stood up from behind his desk and headed towards the door. “Close the door on your way out.” 

Tseng bowed out of habit, and beside him, Rufus remembered to do so just in time. After the President was out of sight, Rufus went and sat down in the President’s chair. He swiveled around to stare at the bird’s eye view of Midgar out the window. It looked as if he was getting used to the sun again, squinting less. 

Tseng went and stood next to him. He allowed himself to touch Rufus’s shoulder and Rufus turned to look at him. He smiled. 

“What are you thinking, sir?” 

“I’m thinking about the future, Tseng,” Rufus said. He turned around and knocked the desk with his knuckles. Just this morning, his hands had been otherwise occupied and Tseng tried not to think about that. “And redecorating. I’ve always hated this desk.” 

In translation, Tseng understood this to mean that at some point they were going to defile President Shinra’s desk. 

Now though, with the future in mind, it was time to get to work.


End file.
